Golden
by GrowlingTurtlez
Summary: Duo finally finds the courage to show Quatre how he feels with a birthday present, but Quatre’s reaction is not at all what he expected!


Title: Golden

Author: GrowlingTurtlez

Email: GrowlingTurtlez@hotmail.com

Pairing: 2+4

Rating: PG-13, for some swearing 

Summary: Duo finally finds the courage to show Quatre how he feels with a birthday present, but Quatre's reaction is not at all what he expected!

Author Notes: This is my first fic, which Anne so lovingly beta'd for me. Thank you Anne!

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters are the property of Bandai, Sotsu, and Sunrise Entertainment. 

            Many people don't realize this, but sometimes Quatre Raberba Winner can be a brat. And no, lightning didn't strike me right after I said that, because he really can. Not a big brat or anything, but a…minor brat. It's kinda cute actually. Not that I'd ever tell him that. 

            Of course, I didn't realize this at first. He kinda blew my mind when I first met him. I mean, he was unlike any kid I had ever met before. All my previous experiences with kids my own age were limited to the ones on L2. And they were, with few exceptions, just as dirty and gawky as I was. Our language couldn't exactly be called "refined" either, if ya know what I mean. Not to say that the other Gundam pilots were dirty and all, it's just that they acted differently than most  kids because they were Gundam pilots. They had their own pasts that had led them to be Gundam pilots, and that already set them apart. But Quatre, he was different. When I first met him, I got the feeling that even if Quatre hadn't been a Gundam pilot he'd still have that…quality. In fact, the person that Quatre most reminded me of was Sister Helen. Like her, he was kind, polite, and graceful. Not to mention they were both blonde, but that's kinda minor. Speaking of Quatre's hair, one time I was flipping through one of Hilde's trashy romance novels  –I wasn't reading it or anything, just checking it out- the ones that are 98% sex, 2% plot, and I ran across this description of the feisty heroine's hair. According to the studly hero of the tale, it was "golden as a shining stalk of wheat". It was after this, of course, that I started calling Quatre "Wheat-head." He didn't like it too much, and its use never failed to make him upset. Even if he was in the middle of some really important, I-am-a-brilliant-strategist-so-listen-in-awe-as-I-orchestrate-some-grand-scheme speech, if I called him that he would immediately become just an irritated 15 year old boy. His lips would scrunch together in what I lovingly termed his "brat pout", I tried to provoke that pout every chance I got. 

            But, like I said, when I first met him I was completely unaware of these things. All I saw was this smiling, polite-as-all-hell, refined youth. He actually intimidated me, at first. That is, until the day that we retreated to the Maguanac  Fighter's Base together, he ran up to me and took my hands in his own, telling me not to worry, that the Maguanacs would fix my Gundam, and wouldn't I please fight with him? Answering his question was a little difficult at the time, though, considering all I knew at that moment was his open face, and those earnest eyes. He even pulled my hands forward a little –his fingernails were so clean- so that the backs of my fingers were pressed gently against the soft fabric of his vest. No kid I'd met before had touched me so easily, with such an affectionate display. If I had done that to an L2 kid I would've gotten my ass kicked.  Hell, any 15 year old boy would have had his fledgling masculinity threatened by such a gesture. Not that Quatre's a girly boy or anything. He could kick some serious ass in that Gundam of his, and I don't think any of us other pilots could've beaten him in strategy. It's just that…I don't know. It just wasn't girly when he did it. It was just honest. 

            I think that's when I lost a bit of my heart to him.

            What? Didn't think I could be all sentimental? Well I can, thank you very much. I'd just rather not be mushy and stuff when talking to anyone. Actually, let me rephrase that. I'd rather have a drunken circus monkey give me an enema with battery acid than be caught acting all mushy. Anyway, as I was saying, Quatre's not delicate at all. In fact, I'm glad I never had to face him in his Gundam. The way he fought was…fierce, for lack of a better word. The other pilots were fierce too, but not like Quatre. See, when Wufei fought, he fought like, like…well, at the risk of sounding fancy, it seemed like something was _overshadowing_ his fighting. And when Heero fought, he was slightly scary, too. But he fought like someone who fights because they have nothing else. When Quatre fought, he did it with his heart. It was in every hit, every blast, every swing of those freaky shotels. I think that's why he could handle Zero like he was born to it.

            Not counting the whole let's-go-blow-up-a-colony incident. Hey, everyone's got their bad days. 

            Speaking of his Gundam, if I didn't already respect Quatre by the time we ended up attacking the base at Singapore together, I definitely would've after that. See, he blew up his Gundam in order to hold back the OZ troops, so that I could escape to space. He blew up his Gundam. And if you don't realize the significance of that, let me tell you, that kid loved his Gundam. I mean, we all have some sort of affection for our Gundams, but Quatre, geez. One time I caught him in a hangar, talking to his Gundam. Now, I talk to my Gundam from time to time, but not like this. He was having a full blown conversation with it. One-sided, but…ya know. I hid in the shadows for a while, watching him chatter away with Sandrock about everything from OZ's crappy defense tactics to the fact that he really hated green tea. And it was after this that I began to refer to his Gundam as "Wheatrock". If I thought that I'd seen him irritated before, I had seen nothing till I mentioned his Gundam's new nickname. He proceeded to have what could only be called a hissy fit. A very cute, polite, and restrained hissy fit, but a hissy fit all the same. Like I said, he really can be a brat sometimes. 

            And if you hadn't figured it out by now what was happening to me, let me tell you that before long I found myself thinking about Quatre all the time. I wasn't fighting OZ constantly, of course, and during those times where there were no battles, my mind would turn to him. Sometimes I'd be sitting in the cockpit of Deathscythe, thinking about him, and would look down to find that I had been writing his name in lazy strokes on the console with my fingertip. What did I think about specifically? Well, nothing too scandalous, mostly just how his hands had felt, holding mine. He had calluses. And those eyes.  No, I don't mean, "He had calluses and eyes." I mean, I thought about his eyes too. To put it bluntly, I was acting like a giggling schoolgirl with a crush. Bleh. 

            Oh yeah, let's not forget his hair. I may have made fun of his hair color to his face, but I never thought about it that way. In my mind, he was nothing less than golden. And all that thinking convinced me to ask him the next time I saw him, "Hey Quatre, when were you born?" Now, if I had asked Wufei, he would've told me, but not without a bit of suspicion. If I had asked Heero…well now there's really no point in asking Heero, is there? Or Trowa, for that matter. I don't think they know when they were born. I don't. Quatre did none of these things, though; he didn't even question the oddity of it. He turned to me, armed with a puzzled smile, and told me it was October 24th, A.C. 180. Why did I ask him? Well, I decided, after much agonizing, that I would get him a birthday present. To show him I cared about him. A lot. But I'll come back to this later.

            Not to change the subject, but he really scared me, after the last battle. The one between Libra and Peacemillion. It was finally over, and he had to go and almost get himself killed by Miss. Eyebrows-R-Us. When Trowa brought him out of his Gundam, and all those doctors started crowding around, I wanted to run over and…slap him. What did ya think I'd say, kiss him? No. 

Well, yeah I did, but not right then. I was too busy being angry. All I could think was, how dare he? How dare he continue fighting when he'd been injured? I wanted to slap him, call him a selfish brat for not thinking how it would hurt the people who loved him, if he died. I ran beside his stretcher for a while, trying to get him to say anything, calling him an idiot and all sorts of other unsavory things. He didn't answer, and that really scared me. But he got through it. In fact, the first thing he did when I saw him in the hospital was to say, "Thank you." I asked him what for and he told me, "For enriching my vocabulary"

I stayed by his side as much as I could, and he got better. Then we all went our separate ways. Trowa to the circus, Wufei to the Preventers, Heero to…somewhere and I went back to L2 to start a scrap business. As for Quatre, he became the media's darling. The Young Heir to the Winner Fortune. He did not look happy. 

            When his birthday rolled around I couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone and call, or send him anything. I had nothing good enough for him, and besides, even the thought of calling him gave me what those trashy romance novels call 'butterflies in my stomach'. Yep, you heard right. I was nervous, really nervous, as in sweaty palms-nervous. So his birthday came and went. And the Mariameia incident came and went. When I think about it, during the time when that red-haired monster child up and flipped her shit, Quatre looked the happiest I had seen him in a long time. I don't think he liked being the Winner heir very much. 

            Which brings me to the present. It's October 24th again, and I, Duo Maxwell, am about to declare my love to Quatre Raberba Winner. But first, I have to break into his office building. 

10 Minutes Later:

            Let me be the first to say this: Quatre's security sucks. Not that I'm complaining. I breeze past the secretary, who's fluttering at my side, waving her hands and telling me that I need an appointment to see Mr. Winner. Of course I ignore her, and bust through the heavy door into Quatre's office. Papers go flying off his desk, swirling about his head as he looks up, shocked. 

            "HEY WHEAT-HEAD!!!"

            "Duo!" 

            Followed by, "I'm not a Wheat-head."

            Ah, Quatre. Ya gotta love him. 

            I see that he's delighted, which makes me feel like exploding with joy, and he quickly tells the secretary that it's all right, before turning back to me.

            "Duo, what are you doing here? How did you get in?"

            I find it necessary to vault up on his desk before answering.

            "Well, to answer your first question, I'm here to rescue you from your paperwork. And as for the second, you really need to get some better security. Not that it will keep me out, but still."

            He gives me an affectionate smile. Actually, it's a shit-eating grin, but, ya know. 

            "But…I have so much work! I mean, I have to-" 

He cuts himself off here, and takes a large breath, sighing. It's everything I can do not to lean forward, and breathe in. Grabbing my hands -I dazedly note that they're still callused- he speaks again.

            "What I mean to say is, I'm glad you're here, Duo." When he speaks this time his voice is pitched a little lower, and little softer. 

            Uh oh. There go them butterflies.

            "But, why? I haven't heard from you in so long."

            Well ya see Quatre, I think to myself, I'm completely head over heels for you, and I couldn't bring myself to tell ya before cuz I was too scared. Yes, you heard right, I was as scared as a virgin in a strip club. 

            But what actually came out was,

            "Because today is a special day! And, we're going to spend it having fun. You do remember what that is, right?"

            Heaven forbid that Quatre actually call me a smart-ass out loud, but that's certainly what the look he shot me said.

            Did I mention that he's still holding my hands?

            "Why is today a special day?"

            Jesus, is he really working so much that he forgot today is his birthday? Reluctantly, I pull one of my hands from his, and place it in a more respectable location: his shoulder. Which coincidentally is close enough that I can oh-so-sneakily touch his hair. 

            "Quatre, if you have to ask that question, you are desperately in need of a day off."

            It takes ridiculous amounts of whining, jokes, and downright threats before I manage to get him out of his office. What finally convinces him is when I inform him that he's wasted thirty minutes arguing with me, and since he was already wasting his time, why not waste it doing things much more enjoyable?

            We walk around the touristy streets of L4 for a while, shootin' the shit. I ask him about Trowa, although my motivation is a little more selfish that just curiosity. He lets out another big sigh, before answering.

            "After the Mariameia incident, he went back to the circus. It really makes him happy, to have a home that he can return to. I couldn't take that away from him. But we still keep in touch."

            And what makes you happy these days, I want to ask, but don't. Just then we pass by an arcade, and it takes two seconds to consider before dragging him inside. Can you believe he'd never been in an arcade before? That's like, a time-honored tradition of boyhood! One can never be considered a healthy young man without wasting some portion of one's life on video games. Although, Quatre looks far from healthy as he takes in his surroundings. More like he's been poleaxed. He's a fish out of water, a young millionaire awash in a sea of piercings, torn clothes, and adolescent bravado. 

            It doesn't last for long, though, once I show him the racing games. Pretty soon he's beating the high scores, all the while yelling at the other pixel cars in some angry-sounding Arabic. Wow. This provides ample opportunity for teasing him about losing his legendary composure on a game. 

            After a while I run out of tokens, and I also want to leave so I can start the next part of my plan. But shit if Quatre doesn't whip out his "brat pout" when I tell him we have to go. I want to tease him for being a brat, but he's just too cute standing there, his business suit long since wrinkled, hair mussed from running his hands through it so many times, and a light in his eyes that I hadn't seen in…forever. It takes every bit of willpower I have not to grab him and kiss him silly. Promises of "the best damn dinner you've ever had" gets him moving again, and before long we're back at Quatre's castle -"It's not a castle, Duo!"- ahem, CASTLE, where I tell him I'd be cooking dinner.

            "When did you learn to cook?!" he asks me, leaning on the counter in the kitchen once all the hired help had been shooed out. All right, time to get all high and mighty. 

"I'll have you know, that I am an excellent cook! I started teaching myself as soon as the war was over. I was just so tired of not being able to support myself that way, ya know? I mean, when I was younger I had to steal food, and when I got older I was able to buy it, but now I want to do for myself."

            I'm not a master of the spoken word, not by a long stretch, but good ol' Quatre knew exactly what I was trying to say. Now leaning full body on the counter, playing with his tie, he asks me,

            "So, Chef Maxwell, what will you be cooking for tonight's meal?"

            "Cheeseburgers. The first thing I learned how to make."

            It takes him a few minutes to get his laughter under control, and then he asks me if he can help. 

            "Sure! Um…why don't you…cut the onions?" A relatively simple task for a beginner, I think to myself. Once I set him up with a knife and a cutting board, I turn back to the ground beef in front of me. Don't ya just love playing with ground beef? It just oozes out between your fingers when you squeeze it, and makes that gross, wet sound when you slap it back into the bowl. 

            I'm distracted from my joy, however, when I hear sniffling behind me. 

            "You ok, Quatre?"

            "Uh…I don't know. For some reason my eyes are watering."

            "Oh yeah, onions do that to you. There's something about them that irritates the eyes, I think."

            Next thing I know he leaves the room in a hurry, tossing off an "I'll be right back." Shrugging away my confusion, I decide to wait. About five minutes later, I hear him come back. I turn around to question him.

            "So, Quatre, what did you…"

            Oh. My. Holy. God. Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing? Are those Rasid's goggles on his head? He must have noticed my slack-jawed expression, cuz he says,

            "Don't look at me like that! They keep my eyes from watering." 

            It takes exactly four minutes and fifteen seconds to stop laughing, and by the time I manage to stop giggling, my face wet with tears, he is pitching one his trademark hissy fits. Which only makes me start laughing again. 

            Much later after dinner, which was delicious, I finally gather enough courage to hand him the small box, wrapped in cheery paper. My hands are shaking. Quatre, although I can see he wants to ask, simply opens the box, a puzzled smile on his face. 

When I hear the sharp gasp I know that he's realized what I've given him.

            "Duo…this is your cross!"

            "Yeah, you noticed that, huh?" For which I received another Duo-you're-a-smart-ass look.

            "Why…why are you giving this to me?" 

            Is he really this oblivious? Has he looked at a calendar lately?

            "Quatre, what day is today?"

            "October 24th." I wait for a few seconds, hoping the realization will kick in. 

            Nope.

            "Yes, and?"

            "And…what?"

            "Quatre! Give me a break here! What happened on this day?"

            The kid, I swear to God, has to think about it. He has to think about it! I watch him, my mouth hanging open again, as he visibly struggles to figure it out.

            "Well, I was born on this day."

            "Yeah!"

            My relief doesn't last long, cuz I can see that something hasn't clicked. To give him some credit, he's obviously trying to figure it out, clutching the cross in his hand. 

            "Quatre, it's your birthday!"

            "Oh…oh! I'm so sorry, Duo! I know I was born today, but I didn't even realize what you were trying to get at."

            Huh?

            "You see, I'm Muslim."

            Now it's my turn to look lost. What does that have to do with anything? He answers the confusion in my face.

            "We Muslims don't celebrate birthdays." Say what?  

            "Why the hell not?"

            "Because it's considered to be bid'ah, an innovation, or new act in my religion. No where in the Qur'an, Sunnah, or Shari'ah are birthdays mentioned being celebrated. So we don't. Actually, to hear my father explain it," he pauses here, the name causing a wave of grief to cross his face, "birthday celebrations are the practices of kuffar, non-believers, which to him was another reason." 

            Well, shit. What the hell am I supposed to do now? He must have seen my panic, because he quickly spoke again, his hands coming up again to grasp mine, the cross dangling from our joined hands. 

            "But don't worry about it! I'm so glad, Duo, that you wanted to do something for me. I really appreciate it." That doesn't comfort me much, ya know. This plan is going out the door fast.

            "Will you…will you still take my gift?" Oh Christ, now I sound like a whining school girl.

            "Of COURSE!" he actually looks a little horrified that I'd think he wouldn't accept it. 

            "But, can I ask why you gave me your cross? I mean, I've never seen you even take it off."

            Ok, mission salvage is now beginning. Here goes nothing.

            "It was given to me by Sister Helen. She raised me, for a while, until…well, she raised me for a while. I loved her a lot. You remind me of her, a lot. She was kind, and polite too. And, well…graceful, ya know?"

            At this point Quatre is blushing, and he ducks his head, gazing at the cross again. But his hands are squeezing mine tighter than ever. The butterflies have gone nuts, and I try to blunder on.

            "And I…she gave this to me. And I always wear it, it reminded me of her, and it's really all I have left of her. But I wanted to give it to you as a birthday present. I don't have a lot, but I have this, and it means a lot to me…and I'm giving it to you because you mean…you mean…"

            He's looking at me again, an expression on his face that I wouldn't have been able to figure out, even had I been given the whole night. 

            "Shit! This isn't coming out right! You're just, you're just…"

            "Duo…" he whispers, and the rest just comes out in a rush. 

            "Quatre, you're so goddamn good, and fine! Not like a goody two shoes or anything, but…I mean, I mean…if I was to put together a person, build them up from scratch, I don't think I could do any better than what you already are."

            And now the words are out of me, and my eyes close. I can't take them back, and that relieves me, in a way. It's like releasing an animal back into the wild, and saying, "For better or worse, it's done now."  

            But when I open my eyes again, I see that I have no reason to worry, cuz he's smiling like it's going out of style, and it hits me right in the chest. Everything is perfect, and he is golden. 

            When he speaks, his voice is still a whisper. 

            "Thank you, Duo. Will you put it on me?"

****

            Well, I guess I didn't screw it up after all. Came close though. After that, we just sat on the couch together and watched a movie or two. And you better believe I wanted to kiss him more than I wanted to breathe. He probably knew it too, cuz he had this smug little smile on his face, and every few minutes I'd catch him staring at me out of the corner of his eyes, his fingers delicately playing with the cross at his throat. 

            That's what keeps surfacing in my mind now, as I lay in bed in one of the guest rooms. His slender fingers, with those clean fingernails, twirling the cross, making it send out little flicks of light. 

            Tomorrow, I think to myself, tomorrow I'll kiss him. 

                                                            *The End*


End file.
